


A Thing With Feathers

by Sans Seraph (themothandthestars)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A/B/O, Angst, Flock fic, Fluff, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Michael is a pretty awesome big brother too, Off Screen Minor Character Death, Omega Dean, Omegaverse, Weechesters, Wingfic, and the kid in question doesn't realize what it is he's doing, attempt at child prostitution, but it goes no where, dean is an awesome big brother, everybodys an angel, hurt comfort, lots of fluff, mentions minor character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:36:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themothandthestars/pseuds/Sans%20Seraph
Summary: Hope is the thing with feathersThat perches in the soul,And sings the tune without the words,And never stops at all.Fledgling omega Dean Winchester is all alone with two small brothers to care for, no cash, and no food. With time running out, he makes a desperate decision that will change their lives forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was all set to save this up til I was done writing, but dang-this fandom needs some happy. Like, immediately. Have some happy, on me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Of course, no one is entirely happy to have a hungry, cranky baby dropped in their lap with only the sketchiest of introductions._
> 
> Leave it to Gabriel to ruin a perfectly nice, quiet Saturday morning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited 6/12/18 )

Hope is the thing with feathers  
That perches in the soul,  
And sings the tune without the words,  
And never stops at all, 

And sweetest in the gale is heard;  
And sore must be the storm  
That could abash the little bird  
That kept so many warm. 

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,  
And on the strangest sea;  
Yet, never, in extremity,  
It asked a crumb of me.  
-Emily Dickinson

***

The scent of an omega in trouble is a horrible thing. 

Depending on the person, it runs a gamut from ammonia to anise to something not unlike those nasty bug candles everyone seems to love. One thing never changes- _it really fucking sucks_. 

It’s an evolutionary throwback, really, like appendixes, voices that never break, and wolf teeth; a nice little leftover from the days of big bad berserker alphas and their uncontrolled hormones. It’s not _exactly_ needed anymore (and not exactly _not_ , either) but biology hadn’t quite gotten the memo. 

That’s why the burning rubber scent wafting through an otherwise quiet midwestern street was wrong on every possible level. 

Now, the coffee from Sweet Temptations was ambrosia, pure and simple. Ask anyone! Their blueberry muffins to die for, and the doughnuts were absolute top shelf-and as a connoisseur of fine junk food, Gabriel knows a good when he tastes it. Not that he’s an _absolute_ walking cliche, thank you, just a man who loves his pastries.  
The place smelled like Heaven on any given day, and between that and the literal, if a bit odd, ray of sunshine and joy working the counter, making it the obvious choice for his little flock’s tradition of lazy Saturday breakfasts in bed. 

Typically, Gabriel used fetching breakfast as an excuse for a bit of alone time. Between work and the usual bickering and jostling that comes from flock life, these few minutes were a precious, precious commodity without which his whole damn week would fall apart. 

He loves his little family dearly, but he only has so many nerves for them to get on, and the walk was a few minutes of silence, punctuated by nothing more annoying than bird chatter and the rising of the sun. 

Not, he would like to insist, the scent of miserable omega. Young, miserable, and very clearly frightened out of their mind omega. 

Of course, that’s exactly what was burning his rather delicate senses and sensibilities this morning-fear, and hunger and worry and a dozen other things shifting too quick to name. 

The source wasn’t hard to find, thankfully. 

The kid was a hot mess, huddled in the lavender shadows of the little craft store’s entryway. He was a sort of uniformed shade of grubby that stood out starkly from the cheerful rainbow of fleece blankets, yarn, and “EZ Sew!” sundresses in the window. 

Even all hunkered down and miserable, Gabriel guessed the kid couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. He was small and narrow shouldered and too-lean under his baggy clothes. His wings were still small and downy and pale where they were tucked tight against his back, his mousey hair longer than fashionable. 

Yeah, the kid wasn’t _entirely_ too young to be out on his own, but something in Gabriel’s “inner alpha” was going all exclamation points and warning klaxons. 

Gabriel’s instincts were awesome. They well honed-and not just from years of living with his brothers. 

The kid looked up, his enormous green eyes glassy and red-rimmed, and Gabriel was pretty sure that, right there was his heart flopping on the pavement.

“Hey. Hey, you need an omega?

I’ll do whatever you want; I can cook real good and know how to clean a lot. Practically anything! I’ll be super quiet, too, and won’t take up much room.” 

Huh. Well. _That’s_ a new. 

Gabriel can’t say he’s ever had an underage omega offer themselves up quite so… well, certainly not cheerfully, but maybe a bit cheer-adjacent. Still. Something needed to be done, and Gabe was just the guy to do it. He even had a shiny metal pin that said so! 

“Yeah...” He draws it out a bit, as if coming to the decision slowly. 

“Yeah, sure, Sunshine. You eat breakfast yet? Come take a walk with me, and we’ll grab a bite and sort this out, alright?” 

Gabriel holds out an open hand like an offer, and guides the kid away from his little nest in the corner. The coffee shop is the only place open at this hour, and he was gonna thank every one of his lucky stars by the time this was over, he was sure of it. 

If he wasn’t convinced something was wrong already, this would have sealed the deal: the kid was perfectly content to be led away by one slightly mantled wing and a light hand. He’d waited only a heartbeat before agreeing, eyeing the only motel in town before giving giving his feathers a little fluff, and all but confirming Gabriel’s guess. 

Well. He was allowing himself to be herded, and that was enough for now. The rest could be sorted when he was tucked away somewhere, and safe as houses. 

The kid’s eyes had been dry when Gabriel found him, but rimmed with red and bruise-purple with the remnants of tear tracks still marking his cheeks just as obviously as the stink of his fear had been. 

Now, Gabriel is pretty damn proud to say that Pandora isn’t exactly a haven for vice and sin. In fact, the little town had to share all it’s important bits-high school, post office, newspaper, and practically everything else-with the next town over. Hell, most people just smooshed everything together, anyhow, and called the whole place Pandora-Columbia. It was a nice, quiet little town in the middle of nowhere. 

There was no damn reason for anyone to come _here_ , of all places, with an underage omega prostitute, but he intends to put an immediate kibosh on every-fucking-thing, right-the fuck-now. 

Or, well, just as soon as he can get the kid stashed somewhere. Kid first, then justice, he reminded himself. Again. He might not be as bad as some alphas, but kids in trouble was a surefire way to make his hackles stand at attention. 

“So, what do they call ya’, Sunshine?”

“I… I’m Dean.

_I’m thirteen._ ” 

Yep, sure, and Gabriel was a blushing maiden. 

Shit, the kid was so new at this game, the shiny hadn’t even worn off yet. Hadn’t even tried to use a fake name, but knew perfectly well that thirteen was legal in most states ...whatever it was he thought he was selling. 

Well, good. Gabe was pretty sure the kid didn’t have the slightest clue what was going down here, which was just fine, as far as he cared. With those big ol’ doe eyes and freckles the kid was practically asshole bait. 

Which, yeah, Balthazar absolutely calls him an asshole all the time, but that’s a whole different kettle of fish right here.

The little bell over the door chimed brightly as Gabriel led his new charge inside. As he’d hoped, the inherent magic of the place-the mingling smells of coffee and chocolate, cinnamon and sugar-did their part to drive away the last of the fear stink and perk the kid up a bit. 

Too bad Donna and Jodi were already installed in their usual spot by the window. 

He loves his girls, really he does-but damn. 

“Hey, Boss!” For a woman that seemed to run on sunshine and cheap coffee, Donna Hanscum could put away a truly amazing amount of food. Really. It was a thing of beauty. And having an omega around that didn’t truck with that ‘meek and pale’ shit? He was sitting on a damn goldmine. 

And the short stack and the rather larger stack of morning paperwork meant she and Jody had been at it for a while. Not a single spot of powdered sugar marred her uniform, and not a feather was out of place in her sleek, champagne and turquoise wings. 

“Good morning, my little Love Muffins.” 

Jody’s mouth was full, and he was positive that saved him from getting anything worse than an unimpressed look. But, then, Jody was never all that impressed with anything at seven in the morning. He refused to let it bother him. 

“This is Dean. He’s gonna be hanging out with me today, so let’s all play nice, hm?” 

Thankfully, he hadn’t seen the cruiser out front and neither had the kid, or things might have gone a bit differently. Gabriel could only assume the damned land yacht was in the small lot behind the building; parallel parking downtown was a bitch, and doubly so when an emergency call came in. 

He knew exactly when the kid sussed out what those neatly pressed khaki shirts meant. Little spikes of licorice and ozone curling around the kid like something physical, the muscles in his back and shoulders all tight and tense. 

It might have been all the unhappy smells leaking everywhere, or just the tinkle of the bells that pulled the barista out of his kitchen hide-away, but he appeared as if by magic with Gabriel’s usual order in hand. 

“Morning, Sheriff! Got your stuff all read-hey, what’s up with him?” 

Ye-ep. There it was. 

He had only a handful of seconds, really, between Garth’s entirely too cheerful greeting, and the kid putting two and two together. Just enough time to work one of his own wings between Dean and the door. Not trapping him, exactly-because nope, that would be both unethical and more than a bit illegal-but but making a nice little visual barrier between a panicking omega and his nearest exit before he can get it in his head to bolt. _That’s_ totally a-okay.

Especially since the kid’s face had gone milk-pale, and he was back to stinking the place up. Seriously, he’s never gonna get used to that. 

His people were good eggs-they were they were well-trained, clever, and compassionate and he hadn’t needed to say a damn thing. They’d seen right through him from the start. Even Jody hadn’t so much as blinked when he’d dropped a skinny, panicky omega in her lap. 

Nope, they just continued their conversation about some Friday night sitcom Donna adored, like this was perfectly normal, and they weren’t even the slightest bit interested in Dean or his unexpected panic. 

Not that they weren’t perfectly ready to help, of course, but they’d both latched on to de-escalation without prompting, and it was pretty awesome. 

“Calm down, Sunshine. You’re not in any trouble, I promise.” Gabriel held up his hand in a three finger salute, and grinned wryly. “Scout’s honor!” 

 

“We’re just gonna have some breakfast and hang out, you and me, what’d ya say?” He hates it when fledglings are scared of the uniform. Hates. It. And the blame usually landed square in the lap of some less than kosher parenting. Come to think of it, trying to pick up the local sheriff might actually be one for the record books, shitty parents or no. 

“Garth here makes some ass kicking pancakes-chocolate chips, bananas, real maple syrup, the whole nine yards.” He’s nattering, but it’s a calculated sort of risk; no better way to look nice and normal and utterly harmless. The kid was pressed into the arc of Gabriel’s wing like a scared hatchling. When he didn’t answer, he plowed on ahead. 

“No? French toast, maybe? Or cinnamon rolls? Are you a sausage gravy kinda guy? You gotta pick something good, Cherub. It’s Saturday, and that means a good breakfast. No Cheerios today!” 

Gabriel is willing to bet the kid is half hollow at this point, and by the look of his wings, probably ready to hit a growth spurt soon, to boot. He couldn’t ask for a better distraction. The smell of the cafe must have been driving him crazy, and free food is free food no matter where it’s coming from, right? 

“I don’t. Um-Pancakes? Please?”

“I knew you were a smart kid.” Garth, in all his strange, lanky glory dropped another neat package smelling of syrup and buttermilk on the counter, as if by magic. 

“But now I’ve got a little problem. D’you think you can help me out, Dean? See, my big brothers are real jerks in the morning, and and most of this haul has their names on it. And it wouldn’t be nice to make ‘em wait, no matter how much we might want to.” 

It’s not really nice to use psychology against the poor kid-cause if there’s one thing kids that age love, it’s getting to help-but he’s still hesitating, looking more small and lost now than when he’d found him.

“In fact, I bet they won’t even feed the dogs til I get back. So what’d ya say, Sunshine? D’you think you can help me carry some of this?” 

“You have a brother?”

“Oh yeah, a whole pile of em. I bet Cassie is about your age, too. He stays with us sometimes, when he’s out of school. Poor kids probably gonna be another alpha when he presents, but we won’t hold that against him.”

“C-Can my brothers come help, too?” 

Well. _Shit_. 

***  
When it was all sorted, Donna and Jody didn’t even need to flash their badges to get into the motel room-the look of pure momma bear rage his deputies were sporting was enough to send the attendant scurrying for a key. 

And Dean’s brothers as it turns out, aren’t even old enough to be out of diapers. Not that Sam was willing to admit that out loud, apparently, but no one with a heart would scold a toddler with damp bed sheets. Hell, the little one was still a hatchling! 

Between sniffles, the boys explain that Mommy was gone and Daddy-well, they never really said what their father did, but it wasn’t at all unusual for Dean to watch his brothers for a day or two. There’s no pimp, no underage prostitution, just some hungry, badly neglected fledglings and suspiciously absent father. 

Dean insists their dad would be back, and soon-honest!-but according to Jody, the kid at the front desk says the boys have been here for weeks, and unless someone pays up, they wouldn’t be spending another night at the North Star Inn. 

The kid is pretty adamant they stay, and Gabriel is just as sure that there’s no way in Hell he’s gonna be leaving any of these kids behind. Thankfully, Jody and Donna were on his side. As he was not _technically_ on duty, Gabriel entertained the kids while his deputies sorted the ridiculous cluster-fuck. 

Garth, too, if the heaping bags of breakfast goodies was anything to go by. 

“C’mon, Cherubs, breakfast is on me-” He rustled the plastic of the bags enticingly. “But we can’t leave my brothers out, or they’re gonna put Nair in my shampoo again.” 

The kid-Sammy, according to his brother-giggles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Who knows, maybe it is. 

***

Michael was-well, he was less than thrilled. 

Not so much because of the unexpected addition to their weekend ritual, but more because he was not an angel who dealt with change well. Truth be told, big brother adored fledglings, but Saturdays were for lazy breakfasts in their PJs; no work, no surprises, and definitely no rushing to stash any unmentionables before the kids saw. 

Of course, no one is entirely happy to have a hungry, cranky baby dropped in their lap with only the sketchiest of introductions. He was sure Adam was a perfectly lovely child when he wasn’t being difficult, but by this point they’d both missed their breakfasts and it was beginning to show. Instead of whisps of baby blonde hair and big blue eyes, the boy was a red-faced and scowling mess in a grubby white singlet printed with friendly looking blue and green whales. His wings were still essentially bare put for a few dark pinfeathers-there was no telling what the little one was destined to be-but if his angry screeches were anything to go by, the answer was quite probably “howler monkey” or possibly “tasmanian devil”. 

Thankfully the boys _did_ have a sketchy sort of diaper bag. It was small-ish and more than a bit understocked for three young children, with only a single clean diaper and a small bag of slightly squashed Cheerios. There were no po pull ups to be found, no juice or water, no clean clothes, certainly no toys, although a battered copy of _Sam the Firecat _was peeking out from behind what he could only hope was a box of baby wipes.__

____

____

The slightly tattered school bag was currently hanging from the narrow shoulders of a surly, severely irritated young omega boy. Michael looked from the fussing toddler on his hip to Dean’s scowl and decided that they were, the lot of them, in over their damned heads. 

If asked, Michael would say he thought he’d done a perfectly admirable job as Big Brother, as evidence by their joint decision to flock together. 

Even if he weren’t, this would have been enough to make him want to growl; just enough to care for the baby, no more and no less. Certainly not enough to keep Sam and Dean healthy and happy, too. 

“Lucifer, please call Mother. Tell her we have a small problem.”


	2. UPDATES: 6/6/18

Aye. People are still reading this! _Awesome!_

Which means I really need to take two seconds or so, and let all y'all know that I'm still around, and still working on it. Mostly editing right now, and of that, mostly formatting over altering actual text. A few words may change here or there, but the idea is to get my head back in the right spot, not alter the story to fit where my head is now.

Thanks everyone, for bearing with me. (Seriously. Final couple quarters of school, plus internship. My life is not my own right now, but I have _no_ plans to let my dumb pile of feathers and fluff sit unfinished.)


End file.
